


made for you (and only you)

by QuickSilverFox3



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Courting Rituals, Established Relationship, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Other, Parental Vesemir (The Witcher), Pre-Relationship, Witcher Training (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Geralt watches Vesemir carve a new lovespoon, a token of his love, every year again and again and again for someone the other Witchers have never met. But he never thinks that he will find anyone to love, or who will love him. Until Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Vesemir/Original Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 172





	made for you (and only you)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an anon prompt of 'Courting'!

“Stop fidgeting.”

Vesemir punctuated his words — slightly on the softer side of exasperated to hold any true irritation — with a cuff to the side of the injured boy’s head. It wasn’t meant to harm, merely to chide, but Geralt could feel the restrained power in the gesture and obligingly dragged his bouncing leg away from the table. A morbid sense of curiosity overwhelmed him, and he peeked at his injured leg: his toes turned at an angle that still made his stomach twist — an instinctive reaction to something grotesque — and the skin hidden beneath a thick set of bandages stained green from salve. 

“Now, the Krasue. How to kill it?”

Geralt frowned, eyes darting from side to side as he tried to recall Vesemir’s teachings, lips moving soundlessly as he did so. He could almost feel the heavy weight of one of Vesemir’s many books lying across his knees, the scent of the decaying ink so sharp and hazy. “Sever the head from its organs or a blade to the brain. The saliva and flesh is contagious so burn them well, so nothing but ash remains.”

He managed to see the tail end of Vesemir’s grin, gone the moment it appeared, as he turned to stare at the man. He wore his armour like a second skin, uncaring of the bulk the padded leather added to his broad form, settling back into the seat with an air of relaxation.

“How is it made?”

Geralt bit back the sigh, feeling the restlessness twist in his legs and stomach. The hall they were in was large, the walls a featureless grey stone bereft of windows to try and salvage the heat from the fire when winter loomed, but the door was propped open, letting in the sunshine. A cold breeze pressed against his ankles, and with that breath of freedom came the mock battle cries from outside — Eskel’s voice clear above all the rest to Geralt’s ears. The hall would soon be full of the others, hungry for tales and food in equal measure, but the high ceiling only seemed to empathise the newly empty seats they all tried to ignore.

“A curse. Cast over five nights or through consumption of contaminated food and drink. Some reports claimed that it originated from a cursed wealthy lady who always wore a black ribbon around her neck as protection from the sun, then spread from there.”

Vesemir nodded, needing to make no marks on any parchment to remember his student’s progress, instead pulling a twisted scrap of wood from his pocket. The scent of pine came with it, different to the crackling logs in the fire, and Geralt’s eyes were drawn to the motion as Vesemir turned it round and round in his calloused hands.

“What’s that?” 

There was a certain softening at the crinkled corners of Vesemir’s eyes as he smoothed a thumb over the edges of the wood. 

“It’s tradition to give tokens to someone you are trying to court, someone you hold affections for.” His chuckle at Geralt’s wrinkled nose, at his childish confusion, seemed to rumble from deep within his chest. “It’s an old tradition, but one I keep.”

From a pouch at his belt — the inside soft with soft grey rabbit fur, moulded to the shape of the carving — Vesemir drew out a carved wooden spoon. The handle was an intricate series of twisted vines coiled round and round the other until he could barely remember where he had started. Vesemir touched it so carefully as if he feared it would shatter beneath his touch and returned it to the pouch with the air of a supplicant at a temple. 

“I was younger then. But the carving helps pass the time.” It was as if a curtain had fallen behind his eyes, closing the man off from everything around him. Vesemir shifted his shoulders, the chair creaking beneath him with the motion, thumb digging into the edge of the half-carved wood in his hand. “Now, what are the other names for a Krause?”

Geralt sighed, a heavy thing that seemed to well up from the soles of his feet, and answered, his mind still turning around the twists and turns of the vines.

He couldn’t have known back then how that single object would be the centre of his current obsession or frustration. 

It had stuck with him: the intricate carvings and the symbols he watched Vesemir carve into the new scrap of wood, hands barely hesitating as the storms raged outside and they huddled together, desperate to drown out the howling wind they swore were calling their names.

So Geralt poured over old books, half-forgotten lore and what information he could pry from Vesemir when nostalgia loosened the old Witcher’s tongue.. He learned the symbols and their meanings. In his darkest nights, Geralt would curl his hands into fists so tightly that he could smell the iron tang of his blood on the air, the small pinpricks of pain nothing compared to the weight pressing him down, the longing for something he would never own, and think about his own carving that would never be given to anyone.

“Geralt!”

The Witcher was ripped from the hazy fog of his memories by Jaskier’s shout, the bard barely even pausing before crashing into him, arms wrapping around Geralt’s waist and squeezing as tight as he could, seemingly trying to imprint his touch onto Geralt’s skin. 

It hurt, but not in a way that Geralt could ever explain. His hands ached to reach out to the bard as the other man stepped away, missing their closeness fiercely but unable to act on the twisting knot in his stomach. He sighed instead, making a point to peer over Jaskier’s head — searching for the nonexistent danger, normally in the form of a furious parent or jealous spouse — just to hear the other man laugh and lean into Geralt further.

“Can’t I have just missed you, dear heart?” Jaskier asked instead, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled, and something in Geralt’s chest twisted at the sight.

“Hmmm.”

“Look!” Jaskier was undeterred by his silence, slipping an arm through Geralt’s as he rummaged in his pack. While his head was ducked, his words only slightly muffled as he, Geralt, slipped a hand into his own pack, fingers brushing against the piece of pine he had bought only moments ago. 

Vesemir had carved another spoon over the winter as he did every year, settled into his chair by the fire and ignoring the younger Witcher’s bickering — their tempers running higher as the snow on the ground lessened — repeating the same patterns of wheels and anchors, symbols of stability and devotion, into the scented wood. Geralt watched him, as he always did, and Lambert drew closer despite himself, eyes narrowing into a glare when Geralt glanced his way, shoulders set and jaw clenched in preparation to argue. 

He had thought to ask Vesemir why so many times over the years, but that urge lessened with time, with the knowledge of Jaskier’s smile sitting so warm in Geralt’s heart. Now he only wondered who? Who did Vesemir keep exchanging tokens with after all this time, all decorated with the same symbols of devotion and love? But he kept quiet, unwilling to even inadvertently cause Vesemir more pain.

“Here!” Delight radiated from Jaskier as he held up a small pouch, pressing it into Geralt’s free hand. It was surprisingly heavy for its size and tied tightly closed. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s eyes upon him as he picked at the knot, hear his heartbeat quicken in anticipation even over the din of the marketplace and the cries of the hawkers as they moved with the swell of the crowd, baskets balanced on their hips.

“Oh,” Geralt breathed, his eyes wide as he dipped his fingers among the heavy seeds — he hadn’t seen them for years, making substitutes in his elixirs that made him vomit afterwards, sent the world around him into a fit of movement that made his head explode with pain.

“Are they the right kind? I remember you said you had run out, so I contacted an old friend of mine — a lovely woman, her wife makes the most beautiful tapestries — and she managed to locate some!”

Geralt found himself at a loss for words, unable to speak as his heart swelled in his chest, and he simply reached out to squeeze Jaskier’s hand in silent thanks.

“Don’t mention it, dear heart. I’m glad you like them,” Jaskier said, twining his fingers with Geralt’s for a moment, the calluses on his fingers similar to Geralt’s own.

Geralt didn’t need to ask Vesemir why he kept carving tokens. He knew why.

Jaskier grinned, soft and sweet like the sun emerging during a gentle rain, and Geralt knew the old Witcher’s devotion as the bard looped his arm back through Geralt’s, steering him through the marketplace as he talked. Geralt nodded in the appropriate places, mind turning over the vines and anchors and wheels, love and devotion and dedication, he would carve into his token for Jaskier. 

It would be clumsy and rough. Geralt’s hands already ached with the predicted cuts and indentations he would inflict upon himself, but, as he watched the sun turn Jaskier’s hair to burnished copper and highlight the constellation of freckles on his nose as he spoke, he knew it would be worth it just to see Jaskier smile.

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr!](https://inkformyblood.tumblr.com) Requests are always welcome!


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